Thirteen Days
by perfectvelvet
Summary: Sequel to 'Shelter from the Storm.' "It had been thirteen days since they returned from their run. Thirteen days since he had pushed her away. Thirteen days since he had spoken to her. He hated every minute." Daryl/Carol.
1. Chapter 1

**Howdy, friends! Hopefully I didn't keep you waiting too long. Here is the sequel to "Shelter from the Storm." It is highly advised, if not required, that you read the aforementioned fic; otherwise this one won't make any sense. Prepare yourself for Daryl/Carol angst and romance, rated T for language and reference back to the smutty parts of "Shelter." :-D  
**

**Disclaimer: The characters and universe herein were created by Robert Kirkman et al. The series is produced by AMC and other corporations. I don't own anything, and no infringement is intended.**

**Much love to definitelywalkerbait for all of her input and advice. It was tremendously helpful, and this fic would not be nearly as awesome (and may not even be finished) without her!  
**

_Thirteen Days  
__Chapter 1__  
_

He used to love storms.

Thunder rumbled as a trail of dark clouds drifted over the prison, obscuring the orange autumn sun. Daryl stood in the watch tower, rifle in hand, and watched the passing clouds. A couple of fat raindrops began their descent, splattering on the grass and concrete below.

When he was young, while most kids would hide under their beds at the mere mention of a storm, he would be stupidly climbing a tree, trying to get closer to the source. That powerful energy that built up from nothing then exploded out of the sky. The boldness and the strength, sometimes gentle but always dangerous, impossible to harness but amazing to behold. The power would course through his body, giving him the courage he needed to withstand his father's beatings and his mother's death and his brother's absence. The will to survive.

But now storms only brought pain. Each bolt of lightning ignited a memory; each crack of thunder shook his resolve. He could feel the breeze tousle his cheek, as soft as her lips on his; sense the electricity dancing between the cloud and ground, sparks flying as they come together for the first time; recognize the updraft, the warm air reaching its pinnacle, their bodies rising, coming back down with rain, or tears, or both. And he would have to wait for the storm to pass before he could breathe again, before the vice squeezing his heart would release him.

So he waited. Watched the skies open wider and the rain fall harder. Saw everyone in the courtyard run inside to avoid the unexpected storm. But there was one person moving against the crowd, one person who was not looking for shelter, one person who came outside to welcome the rain.

* * *

She used to hate storms.

Carol sat cross-legged on top of a picnic table, protected from the rain by an overhead walkway. She took a slow, deep breath. The thick, almost musty smell of water hitting the dry earth was comforting, made her smile, made her remember.

It felt like years ago when an oncoming storm would clench her body with fear. Somehow, the charged air always made her husband meaner. While the rain poured outside, he would strike her, the deep tone of his insults reverberating through her with the thunder, the slap of his open hand as quick as lightning, blinding her just the same. It got better when Sophia was born, her precious angel, but worse when her little girl grew up and no longer needed her mother's comforting words and protective embrace.

But now storms only brought fondness. She could relive the night in the cellar, the undeniable attraction and unavoidable collision that was not unlike the bolts of lightning in the sky. Opposites coming together with explosive force because the pressure had been building and there was nowhere else for the tension to go. And when the storm was gone, when the clouds moved away and the energy dissipated, she would miss him again.

So she waited. Watched the skies brighten and the rain slow to a trickle. Her gaze drifted to the tower where he stood, watching her watching him. She lifted a hand in greeting, neither expecting nor receiving a wave back.

But another storm would develop someday; they always did. They could never stay away for long.

* * *

"Hi, sweetheart!"

Carol smiled broadly, pointing at Rick as he approached. "Who's that?" Judith cooed, her little hands waving wildly as she bounced in Carol's arms. "That's right, that's your daddy!"

He took his daughter and lifted her above his head, delighting in her giggles. Her eyes were just like her mother's, and looking into them reminded him of Lori. Bittersweet. "Thanks for watching her while I met with the new couple."

"Of course. She's never a bother." Carol wiggled her fingers against Judith's belly, and the girl giggled again. "So what's their story?"

"Matt and Anna. They were camping down by the Oconee River. Managed to survive off the land until it got overrun." According to what he'd just heard from Hershel, Anna was pregnant – very pregnant. But she didn't look it; Hershel suspected her poor nutrition was the main contributing factor to the size of the baby, so he wasn't sure it would survive. They weren't equipped with the necessary supplies to care for a premature, sickly child. It was purely by luck that Judith managed to survive. Rick kissed his daughter's forehead, snuggled her close. They needed to prepare. He wasn't going to let another mother die if he could help it. Nobody deserved to lose the ones they loved.

Carol nudged him, concern etched on her face. "You all right?"

"We need to have a meeting. Can you round up the others in the library?"

She nodded, took one step, then paused. "Daryl's in the tower; you mind fetchin' him?"

There it was. The elephant in the room. The subject everyone was simultaneously talking about and ignoring. He wasn't sure how to broach it, primarily because he had no idea what was going on, but it was going to have to be addressed sooner or later.

Two weeks ago, Daryl and Carol were as thick as thieves. Always together, whether it was dressing game, practicing their combat skills, or eating dinner. Their easy camaraderie didn't escape notice, and people began talking, wondering how long until they came forward with their secret romance. Rick knew it hadn't progressed that far, but it was certainly on the right track.

And then … nothing. They returned from their run as two different people: strangers, tense, indifferent to one another. Now they were never together, apparently not on speaking terms if Carol's request was any indication. Daryl was moody, a lot like he was when they'd first met, with a chip on his shoulder and not a care for anyone or anything. Carol dove into planning Glenn and Maggie's wedding and used it as an excuse for everything, from getting out of watch duty to spending more time wherever Daryl wouldn't be.

Rick didn't want to interfere, but they were making things difficult. Their behavior was distracting and potentially threatening the safety of the prison. Daryl wouldn't talk to anyone, and when someone did make the mistake of speaking to him, they often received an earful of unwarranted, colorful insults. Without Carol's calming influence, her rare ability to keep his behavior in check – and with Carol being the apparent cause of his bad attitude – they were both endangering the community. Rick doubted that either of them realized this, but it was his job to put a stop to it, a task that was not going to be easy.

"Sure. Anything wrong?"

Her smile wavered. "No."

He wasn't buying it.

**End of chapter 1**

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	2. Chapter 2

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_Thirteen Days_  
_Chapter 2_

The prison library had become their meeting room, a comfortable and relatively private location to discuss the daily chores needed to run a community. The leadership council consisted of what was commonly referred to as the founders, those who had overtaken and established the prison as a home. Anyone was invited to attend, but most of the Woodbury residents were content to do whatever was asked of them so they rarely came. This time was no exception.

Daryl stood against the support post, picking at a hang nail on his thumb, head bowed. He would occasionally gaze at Carol through his long bangs as she chatted amiably with Maggie. The chair next to her was empty, the chair that he had always occupied.

It had been thirteen days since they returned from their run. Thirteen days since he had pushed her away. Thirteen days since he had spoken to her.

Thirteen days since he'd begun desperately trying to convince himself that he'd made the right decision. Thirteen days of failing. Thirteen days without her.

He hated every minute.

"Mornin'." Rick strode into the library, followed by Hershel, and they took their place at the table. Nobody sat next to Carol. Rick took note of the empty chair but said nothing. "I need two volunteers for a run today. Shouldn't take more than a couple of hours."

"Sure, what are we getting?" Glenn asked.

"Unfortunately, Glenn, you're gonna have to sit this one out. You're getting married tomorrow, and Maggie would have my head if I let you go."

He scoffed at his fiancée, hands upturned in question, but she merely smiled at Rick and mouthed, _Thank you._

He grinned back at her. "Now as most of you know, we took in some new survivors early this morning. Anna and Matt. Anna is pregnant."

Hershel leaned forward in his chair. "Based on her estimation, she's already in her third trimester, but my measurements show the baby is on the small side."

"I met her," Glenn mentioned. "I didn't realize she was pregnant."

"The baby could arrive at any time," Hershel said. "We need supplies."

"There's a store about an hour east of here," Rick said, flattening a map on the table and pointing to the general area. "We've already cleared it of formula, but we'll need another crib, diapers, blankets…"

Daryl knew it was coming, but it didn't stop him from scowling when Carol said, "I'll go." She'd do anything for the children in the prison, and she was no doubt thrilled at the arrival of another newborn. Where she saw the future, he saw a liability. Why would she even consider going on another run after what had happened the last time?

And the memory of the cellar came flooding back, painfully, overwhelmingly, and he choked back a moan, struggling to keep his expression blank. If she went on the run and was faced with another herd or tornado, she might not survive. And if she didn't survive... He couldn't leave it like this.

"Daryl, go with her."

He froze as everyone except Carol turned to him. She was staring at her hands, either embarrassed by or indifferent to Rick's command. Hadn't people been paying attention? "Can't." _Can't be alone with her._

Rick stood and slowly walked over to Daryl. His voice was low and even, almost a whisper, sounding strangely like a plea. "I'm not asking you; I'm telling you."

"And I'm tellin' ya I can't!" _Can't keep her safe._

"I'll go," Michonne offered, hand on the hilt of her katana. When Rick finally nodded and took a step back, she eased her stance. "We'll leave in ten minutes."

Carol rose from her chair and put on a gentle smile. "Maggie, I have something for you in my cell." They left the library together, followed by Glenn and Hershel.

The expression on Rick's face was sympathetic, and Daryl found himself angered by it. What the hell did he know about what happened? Nothing. _So he should keep his damn nose out of it_. There was no way Daryl would go on another run with her, and if she knew what was best, she would quit volunteering for them. She needed to stay in the prison where she was safe from harm, safe from _him_. He had failed her in the craft store, forced her to save him when he should have been the one saving her.

His fists clenched as he remembered the terror in her face as she felled the walker that had nearly bitten him, the tears that spilled down her cheeks. The _what if_ was worse than the _did_; she did what she had to do, but every kill shook her faith in survival, and he knew that he couldn't keep putting her through this.

They _did_ have something worth living for, but it wasn't worth dying for.

Without thinking, he turned on Michonne, rage coursing through his body, his face inches from hers. "If _anything_ happens to Carol on this run, anything at all…"

"_She'll_ be fine." Michonne pressed her forefinger to his chest and shoved him. "But if you don't get out of my face, _you_ won't be."

He stared at her, slapped in the face by reality. Threatening Michonne, talking back to Rick… What the hell was he doing? He'd had thirteen days to prepare an apology, thirteen days to actually recite it and deliver it, and he'd done nothing but spend thirteen days fucking things up. Now he was left with only ten minutes. Time to man up ... or give up. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"Get your shit together, Dixon." She turned on her heel and walked out of the library. Rick gave Daryl one last glance before following.

* * *

"Oh, Carol, it's beautiful!" Maggie accepted the gift with unsteady hands. It was a wreath of red, orange, and white silk roses, a layered tulle veil and ribbons flowing from the back. Carefully, she placed it atop her head. "You said you made this?"

Carol smiled and adjusted the crown. "I picked up the supplies during the last run. Your sister is makin' you a bouquet, but I wanted you to have this in case I… Well, just in case."

"There is no 'just in case'. You're going with Michonne. In and out in no time." There was no mistaking the look of sadness on the other woman's face, and she sighed. "He'll come around, Carol. He always does."

She gave her a feeble smile. "Maybe."

"Well, if he doesn't, then he's the biggest fool in all of Georgia." Maggie squeezed both of her hands. "Now come find me when you get back. You, me, and Beth - Michonne and Sasha too if they want to come - we'll use that little spa kit I found last month, and we'll practice dancin' for my wedding tomorrow."

"No dancing."

"Yes dancing! I don't know what Beth is planning, but she said she's been practicin' a few songs, so there _will_ be dancing."

"We'll see. I still have to finish your cake."

"I get a cake?" Her grin faded. "But how? We don't have a cow, so no milk, no butter…"

"Let me worry about that."

"Well, you best get back then! I haven't had cake in forever." She gave her a hug and whispered, "Keep your chin up."

Daryl stood outside of Carol's cell, listening to the conversation inside, slowly banging the back of his head against the concrete wall. He really was the biggest fool in all of Georgia. He'd managed to find the one woman who made him feel like he could be something, and he pushed her away, pretended she didn't mean anything to him when she meant _everything_ to him.

Maggie stepped out of the cell, still wearing her bridal wreath, and noticed him loitering. Without a word, she punched him in the shoulder and hurried down the steps. He glared after her, rubbing the spot where her fist had made contact.

Now or never.

He slowly walked in front of the cell. Carol knelt by her bed, her impressive collection of knives spread out before her.

"Take the tanto."

She stiffened at the sound of his voice but didn't turn around. "I'd feel more secure with the Bowie."

"Michonne is gonna do the killin'. You don't need the Bowie for this run."

She selected the Bowie anyway and put the rest of her weapons away. His mouth twitched, but he said nothing, watching her attach the sheath for the knife to her belt. When she was ready, she met his gaze, almost challenging him to speak. And why shouldn't she? He hadn't spoken to her in thirteen days.

"Stay focused," he said. "Clear the store before you get the supplies. Move quickly and quietly, and you'll be back in time for supper."

She scoffed at his comments, blue eyes blazing at his patronizing statements. "Is that why you came up here? To tell me how to clear a building?"

"No," he said softly. The ten minutes were ticking away.

"Then what do you want, Daryl?"

_What do I want?_ he thought as he stared at her. _ I want to apologize for turning you away. I want to stop fighting. I want a chance to make things right. I want to prove myself to you. I want to make you happy. But right now, I just want you, and I want you to want me too._

"Nothing."

_Fuck!_

Carol nodded, looked at the floor and ran a hand across her eyes. When she faced him again, he saw nothing but disappointment. He had lost his chance. He had lost _her_. "See you at supper."

She moved to pass him, and he grabbed her arm, rooting her in place. _Say something, anything._ And he said the only thing he could think of, hoping she would understand.

"Stay safe."

**End of chapter 2  
**

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	3. Chapter 3

**AMC's promo pics gives me hope for some Caryl love next season! But until then, we'll always have fanfic :) Enjoy!**

_Thirteen Days  
Chapter 3  
_

One hour turned into two, into four, into eight, and Carol and Michonne still hadn't returned. Daryl walked along the perimeter of the prison, dragging his knife along the fence, working the walkers into a frenzy. He'd managed to collect a significant following; somewhere in the vicinity of fifteen undead were growling and snapping at him. Good.

He stopped abruptly and slammed his knife through the eye of the closest one.

_One: for the herd that moved through Livingston._

Setting his jaw, he continued pacing until he selected his next target.

_Two: for being forced to abandon our truck._

The knife slid easily into the head, and he watched the walker fall to the ground as he pulled his weapon back out.

_Three: for forcing me to drop her down a cliff._

Again.

_Four: for the cuts in our skin._

And again.

_Five: for the tornado that stopped us from leaving._

And again.

_Six, seven, eight, nine: for four bottles of wine that clouded our judgment._

He stared at the next one, at the vacant look in its eyes. They felt nothing, survived on instinct. That used to be him. Sometimes it still was – and that mentality was what got him into this mess in the first place. His expression twisted with pain and anger. Instead of the head, he went for the heart, plunging his knife into its chest over and over and over again.

_Ten: for the heat and the passion, for the first kiss and the last, for the sound of my name on her lips and the sound of me saying goodbye._

Breath heaving, body tired, he held the knife at eye level and finally plunged it into the walker's brain.

_Eleven: for making me fall in love with her._

"You done?"

He whirled around, knife still poised to kill, and saw Rick squinting at him curiously. He lowered his arm and tried to relax. "Just cleanin' up the perimeter for the wedding."

"Is that what you're doing?" He wasn't convinced by Daryl's nonchalance; anger was the one emotion that wasn't easy for him to hide. Rick pulled two cigarettes out of his breast pocket. He offered one to Daryl, who took it, and lit both of them.

It felt like a peace offering after the events in the library. Daryl had been out of line, and they both knew it. Apologizing wasn't easy for him; he rarely apologized to anyone except Carol, and that never went the way he planned either. So he said nothing.

They stood in an uneasy silence, staring at the fence and smoking their cigarettes. Daryl got tired of the growling and finished killing the remaining walkers with much less gusto than before. Rick simply watched him and waited.

Part of him wanted to tell Rick everything. He had been married, obviously had a lot more luck with women than Daryl ever did. He knew how to make a woman happy, how to make her smile, how to apologize. If there was anybody he trusted to tell him how to fix things, it would be Rick. But the other part of him was stubborn. If he couldn't fix it on his own, maybe it wasn't worth fixing. Besides, Carol deserved a hell of a lot more than his ignorance and attitude. She deserved a man like Rick, a man who knew what to do and what to say.

_You're every bit as good as them._

Her words, spoken so long ago, echoed in his mind.

_Every bit._

He wondered if there would ever be a time when every little thing wouldn't remind him of her, of something she said or did.

"Is this why you couldn't go on the run?" Rick asked, gesturing to the pile of dead walkers at the base of the fence.

"I don't give a shit about some pregnant woman I don't know."

"No, but you do give a shit about Carol. At least you used to."

Daryl said nothing, looking down at the ground, extinguishing his cigarette with his boot. He still did care about Carol, too much in fact. But if he said those thoughts out loud, he'd have to face the depth of his feelings for her – and accept the fact that he had already lost her.

Rick stood beside him, waiting for a response but not pressing. Daryl wasn't sure if he could even form the words, but he appreciated the friendship that was offered. Rick was a good man.

_You're every bit as good as them. Every bit._

He gripped the fence, pinching the links until he felt pain, until it silenced her voice, until he could breathe again.

Nodding to himself, Rick snuffed out his cigarette. "Well, I expect they'll be back soon. In the meantime, finish clearing the perimeter … by actually walking the perimeter. You're weakening this part of the fence by bringing them all here." He started back for the prison.

_Shit_. He was losing his mind over Carol. He couldn't keep her safe; now he was potentially endangering everyone in the prison. Something had to give. The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to reconsider.

"I almost got bit."

Rick stopped but didn't turn around. This was new information; the last time he and Carol had been together, telling the council about the challenges they had faced on the run, they both left out the attack at the craft store. Now it was coming back to bite him in the ass.

"I was distracted," he continued. Distracted by her lips, the thought of making love to her again, of _living_ instead of surviving. He realized now that the sounds he'd heard – the fall of the basket, her moans – weren't from her at all but from the walker creeping up on them. He was so far gone in that moment.

"How?"

"Same thing that distracts every goddamned idiot on this planet."

Rick walked back to where he stood before, hands in his pockets, waiting. His eyes held interest but no judgment. The only person Daryl had ever sought advice from was his brother, and Merle's sharp tongue would be ready with an insult before he'd even have a chance to make a sentence. This was different. This was … comforting.

"That run was cursed from the start. A herd, ravine, thunderstorm, fuckin' tornado."

"When did this happen?"

"On the way back. Carol saw a craft store, wanted to get some flowers for the weddin'. I didn't fully secure the building. Wasn't payin' attention. She was."

"You should be glad that you trained her well."

Daryl squinted at him, face bundled up in a scowl. "I should be glad I was gonna fuck her on a counter; she had a better view."

There. He'd said it. He hung his head before he could see the disappointment on Rick's face. Wait for the reprimand. Accept the punishment. Stupid – and he should have known better. Rick wouldn't make a mistake like that.

_You're every bit as good as them. Every bit._

_Dammit, get out of my head!_

"So what's the problem?" Rick's words were so far from what Daryl expected, he simply stared at him. "You got carried away. It happens."

"The _problem_ is the next time I'm thinkin' with my dick instead of my head, the walker might be behind _her!_"

Rick made a sweeping gesture toward the prison. "Look at this place, Daryl. We've got fences. We've got towers with armed guards. We keep a twenty-four hour watch on the outside. And despite it all, Lori is still dead." He inhaled, shook his head, laughed in spite of himself. "I couldn't save her. But I could have done _more_. I could have forgiven her, been there for her, told her I love her. But I didn't do any of those things. And she died before I had the chance."

Daryl looked away to give him a moment to compose himself.

"You try to keep people safe, but you can't. You do everything right, and they still die. You think you can be in control if you don't let yourself feel, but you're wrong." Rick met his gaze. "I don't know how much time we have left in this life - could be days, could be years - but I know it's not worth wasting. We need to live every day like it's our last because one day it will be, and no one should die full of regrets and missed opportunities."

**End of chapter 3  
**

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	4. Chapter 4

**I really appreciate everyone who has taken the time to review (especially those who have reviewed multiple chapters!). This chapter is for you :)**

_Thirteen Days  
Chapter 4  
_

Carol steered the car down the highway, headlights cutting a path through the darkness. She looked over at Michonne, the third time in as many minutes. "How you doin'?"

"I'll be all right."

She nodded and turned her eyes back on the road. Her hands were still shaking, trails of dried blood illuminated by the soft glow of the dash light. _Damn, Carol, you bring destruction wherever you go._

Like everything else in her life right now, the run was a disaster. They had the supplies requested, but the cost had been high. Michonne had been injured, and Carol… She blinked back the tears that teemed on the edge of her lashes.

"You're not gonna cry again, are you?"

Carol tried to laugh, but the sound turned more into a moan. "I'm sorry. The adrenaline won't stop." She looked at Michonne again. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"It's just a dislocated shoulder."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, swiping away a stray tear.

"Are _you _okay?"

"No."

The prison was in sight, and she pressed harder on the gas pedal. All she wanted was Daryl. To hold her, to tell her it was going to be okay, to praise her efforts at keeping herself and Michonne alive. He was her gravity, the one thing holding her to this life.

But now she was spinning out of control. He barely looked at her. Didn't speak to her. She knew he'd never touch her again. There was no doubt in her mind that if – _if_ – he even greeted them in the loading dock, he wouldn't be the one to comfort her.

The gates parted, and she drove inside, hitting a bump that caused Michonne to wince. She mumbled an apology, eyes scanning the loading dock, looking for him, hoping he'd be there just to prove her wrong.

He was.

* * *

Rick and Daryl ran to the car, meeting Tyreese who was already helping Michonne out of the passenger side door. Daryl's heart thumped in his chest as Carol stumbled out of the vehicle, weak and disoriented. What he saw was something out of a horror movie.

Both women were caked with dried blood, hardly a clean spot on them. Carol's skin looked almost raw, and bits of shriveled organs dotted Michonne's hair. Whatever had happened, it had obviously involved a lot of fighting.

_And I wasn't there for her_.

Daryl clenched his fists to prevent himself from going to her. His refusal had gotten her into this, and she would assuredly push him away if he tried to comfort her now. He looked to Rick, who continued to stare agape at the scene.

"I'm gonna take her to Bob," Tyreese said, guiding Michonne into the prison. "Get her shoulder checked out."

Daryl cast one final look at Carol; she didn't meet his gaze, didn't seem to even register his presence. Content that she was safe with Rick, _safer than she'd be with me_, he followed Tyreese and Michonne inside. "What the hell happened?"

"Made it to the store, got all the stuff Hershel needed. On the way back, we stopped to check some abandoned vehicles for supplies. There were a couple walkers here and there. Nothing significant."

Daryl strode in front of her and blocked the path to the cell block. "You look like fuckin' extras in _Carrie_ and you're tellin' me 'nothing significant'?"

"Nothing significant until the herd moved through and we found ourselves surrounded. One of them yanked my arm back, dislocated my shoulder."

His eyes drifted to the injury to her dominant arm. Michonne had been unable to fight; Carol had been the one to take out the herd. The entire herd. _And I told her to take the tanto._ He punched the air in defeat. "Fuck!"

"Hey." Michonne lifted her good arm and put a hand on his shoulder, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. "Your girl kicked some serious ass."

* * *

"I just grabbed Michonne's sword and started swinging." Carol put her hands against the car to steady herself. "It's not as heavy as I thought it would be." She shook her head. Despite the lightness of the katana, her arms were weak from the movements. Every slice had to be fluid with a full reach to achieve maximum efficiency; her usual knives required quicker, shorter motions.

"How many were there?" Rick asked, startling her out of her reverie.

"Thirty? Forty? Felt like hundreds." She didn't want to think about the attack anymore, didn't want to answer his questions. Her actions had been feral, a blind rage with only one purpose: to get back here, to Daryl. And he didn't care at all. "I know you were gonna run the showers tomorrow so everyone could get ready for the weddin' – but do you think you could make an exception for me?"

"Of course." He reached a hand out like he was going to squeeze her arm but changed his mind when he couldn't find a blood-free spot. "Of course."

"Thank you."

"Carol?" He offered a warm smile. "I'm glad you're back. We all are. You're an asset to our group."

She tried to smile back, but her muscles wouldn't cooperate. "I don't think I'll be going on another run any time soon. Things don't seem to ever go in my favor."

"Not yet – but they will. Be patient."

As she hobbled her way into the building, she idly wondered if he meant something more by his statement. _Be patient._ She was tired of being patient, tired of waiting for things that never came. Thirteen days was plenty of time to make a decision. His refusal of her was obvious. It didn't need words. It was evident in his actions, or lack thereof.

She'd heard him, loud and clear. What she thought could be something more than friendship turned out to be nothing more than a fling. Her feelings hadn't been reciprocated; her imagination had created emotions where there were none. Fine. She'd dealt with rejection her whole life; what was one more?

There were plenty of new residents in the prison. Maybe she'd get lucky and find a man who was available both physically and emotionally. She wanted to do more than survive the end of days; she wanted to come out on top, strong and beautiful and desirable and wanted. The world owed her that much.

Her pace slowed as she turned the corner and came face to face with the only potential roadblock to her newfound optimism.

Daryl.

She felt her eyes well up with tears. How was she supposed to heal with him in such close proximity?

"Michonne told me what happened. Ya all right?" he asked, his drawl laced with concern.

"Fine. Now if you'll excuse me."

"I'm sorry about this morning. I shoulda been there with you on this run."

"Don't do this," Carol pleaded.

"Do what? I'm tryin' to apologize."

"And I said stop. Daryl, I can't do this anymore. I can't look at you and not think about that night in the cellar. I can't keep pretending that one day you're gonna change your mind and love me back. So just…" The dam holding back her emotions finally cracked, and the tears flooded from her eyes. "Just let me get over you."

"No."

"Don't-"

"Dammit, I said _no_." He crushed her into his arms, mouth coming down hard on hers. The kiss was angry, fierce, almost violent in nature. His teeth bit into her bottom lip, and she tasted blood, warm and coppery on her tongue. She tried to push him away, but her body responded oppositely, gripping his back and pressing herself against him.

Suddenly, he shoved her away almost as forcefully as he had grabbed her, choking out a pained gasp, his face unreadable. She ached from the loss of contact and blindly reached out for him again. Her fingers brushed against his cheek, feeling the sandpapery stubble, damp from her tears.

He captured her hand and pressed it flat against his chest, above his heart. She felt the rhythmic drumming, beating in time with her own. His lips fluttered against her bloodied forehead and he whispered once again:

"No."

**End of chapter 4**

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	5. Chapter 5

**We've finally reached the wedding day! An extra disclaimer here: the italicized text comes straight from the comics and thus is the work of Robert Kirkman. There was no way I was going to try to write a better wedding ceremony for Glenn and Maggie! I did, however, omit certain lines to fit my whims :) Only one chapter remains. Enjoy!  
**

_Thirteen Days  
Chapter 5  
_

Happy chatter reverberated through the mess hall at breakfast. Glenn and Maggie's wedding was slated to occur at sundown, turning what would typically be another uneventful day into one of excitement and anticipation.

Daryl sat alone, eating a bowl of oatmeal and peaches, courtesy of their ill-fated run two weeks before. He kept his attention focused on Carol as she dished out a meal for herself and joined Sasha and the Greene sisters at a table. She seemed happier than she had been in a while and definitely cleaner, her skin glowing in the natural light from the windows.

He thought about approaching her, maybe even sitting by her side, but the impervious wall of estrogen made it too intimidating. There'd been no resolution last night, as they had been interrupted by Rick and Glenn unloading the supplies, but she knew where he stood.

At least he hoped she did.

He knew where _he_ stood anyway, a decision much too long in the making. As he had listened to Michonne explain the events of last night, Rick's speech began to resonate with him. Even if he had gone on the run with her, the same events could have happened. He had no say in who lived or who died. The rest of their story had already been written; it was just a matter of when they reached _the end_. If he was lucky, he'd get a few pages, maybe even entire chapters, with her before it was said and done.

A squeal interrupted his thoughts. "Glenn! You're not supposed to see me before the weddin'!"

Glenn, who looked exhausted from his overnight shift in the tower, threw his hands over his eyes and spun around. "I thought it was just in your dress!"

"No, it's the whole day! It's bad luck!" She ducked behind her sister, but it wasn't long before she burst into giggles. "You shoulda seen your face."

He peeked out between his fingers then slowly lowered his hands. "Are you messing with me?"

"Yes," she laughed, hopping out of her chair to give him a long kiss, receiving some scattered applause from the room.

Daryl returned his gaze to Carol at the same moment she looked over at him, and his breath caught in his throat. She rewarded him with a shy smile before she turned away, cheeks stained crimson. His mouth twitched as he tried to stifle a cheer.

Maybe there was hope after all.

* * *

Daryl busied himself with mundane chores for the rest of the morning until he saw Carol head to the outdoor kitchen to prepare the wedding cake. She'd mentioned to him on their run that she'd found a book with World War II-era recipes that were perfect in times of limited fresh ingredients and could be cooked on a wood-fire grill. One of the recipes was for a cake. He couldn't imagine it tasting very good – what the hell kind of cake didn't have butter or eggs in it? – but she was determined to serve it for the wedding.

Either way, it distracted her long enough for him to sneak into her cell undetected. Once he was there, he found himself hesitating to do what he had planned.

It had nothing to do with her but everything to do with him. She'd spent most of her life under a cruel hand, and she deserved more than what he had to offer. He'd never been on a date, never been in love, never tried to woo someone. The entire process was foreign to him.

While Glenn and Maggie may have come together over their rampant sex drives, giving Carol a condom and a _come hither_ look wasn't likely to win him any points. He wasn't completely ignorant. Despite the poor examples he'd witnessed in his life, he knew that she should be treated like a lady: opening doors, pulling out chairs, that kind of shit. But they lived in prison cells and ate on picnic tables, so how was he going to do all that?

Or maybe the world was just so screwed up at this point that he could win her over by killing a really big buck. Dress it, butcher it, cook up a nice venison chili for her. She liked when he brought her fresh game; protein from meat was a delicacy now. If only he could find a deer.

Daryl shook the thoughts from his head. This whole thing was stupid. Carol had told him, many times in many different ways, that she wanted to be with him. Why couldn't he just accept that? Why did he have to make it so damn difficult?

He looked at the object in his hands then squinted when he noticed it was _moving_, however imperceptibly. But how… "Fuckin' ridiculous," he mumbled. His hands were shaking like a little girl. She wasn't even here, and he was _still_ messing things up. He just needed to do it and be done with it.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Bend over. Release item. Straighten up. Turn around. Walk away. _Done_.

And the blue hydrangea waited patiently on her pillow.

* * *

The evening sun began its descent toward the horizon, casting a soft orange glow on the prison courtyard. Guests formed a semi-circle around Hershel and Glenn in anticipation of the ceremony. Most of the community was in attendance, dressed in their best attire, with a few offering to watch the children or work in the towers.

Volunteers had spent the afternoon creating a romantic atmosphere for the outdoor wedding. Picnic tables had been arranged in a U shape and decorated with long-stemmed candles and wildflowers. One table had been stocked with several bottles of wine, five small cakes, and all of the supplies needed to consume them.

Hershel spoke softly to Glenn, who was bouncing nervously on his heels, eyes transfixed on the door to the cell block. Despite his obvious anticipation, he looked as excited as a child on Christmas morning. Maggie had gotten ready in a different area of the prison to avoid him seeing her before the wedding, and her arrival was due at any moment.

Daryl and Beth were also absent, the latter helping her sister and the former cleaning up after a shift in the tower. Carol touched the blue hydrangea, which she had placed above her ear, and smiled. The intimacy of the gesture did not go unnoticed. She hadn't even thought about the flower since the attack at the craft store, vaguely aware that it wasn't among the other buds in the basket when she and Beth began creating the wreath and bouquet. The fact that Daryl had retrieved it, kept it, and then returned it to her meant more to her than she could verbalize.

The door to the cell block opened, and the audience collectively gasped. When it was Daryl to come out, the only person who didn't relax was Carol. He had cleaned up well, looking almost formal in a pair of dark slacks and grey button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked around awkwardly, and Carol smiled when he locked eyes with her. The moment was short-lived, as something from inside the prison caught his attention. He grabbed the closing door before it was able to fully shut, and Maggie walked out, eliciting murmurs of admiration from the crowd.

She floated down the stairs, carrying her rose bouquet, eyes fixed on Glenn. His chest was puffed out with pride, and he looked ready to burst. She was beautiful, wearing a tea length white slip dress with lace accents along the hem and the wreath that Carol had made.

Beth grabbed Daryl's arm and guided him down the stairs, parting from him at the perimeter of the semi-circle. Carol met his eyes, heart pounding in her chest. He began walking the edge of the group, gaze never wavering from her face. She couldn't catch her breath, barely cognizant of Hershel reading a passage from his Bible. Sounds faded, sights dimmed.

"_If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing_."

As he made his approach, she could see the faintest of smiles form on his lips. She admired his restraint because she couldn't stop grinning, waiting for him to reach her side. She would wait forever if she had to. It would be worth it.

"_Love is patient, love is kind. It does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs_."

He stopped on her right, body angled toward her. His gaze shifted to the hydrangea in her hair. Her simple act of acceptance was all he needed.

"_Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres_."

Eyes fixed on the ceremony, on Glenn reciting his own vows, Daryl reached for her hand and took it into his.

"… _and I vow to love you for as long as I have left and to do everything in my power to ensure that is a long time_."

She looked at their interlaced fingers and felt a tear slide down her cheek, then his thumb as he wiped it away. Any lingering doubt vanished and was carried away by the soft breeze.

"_I give myself to you as your wife_."

He was the one she wanted. The one she had been waiting for. Through the good and the bad, whatever had passed and whatever was yet to come, she would stand by his side without question.

"_I do_."

His grip tightened, and she smiled up at him. His face was relaxed, gentle. Happy.

"_I do_."

This was it. This was real. From now on, it would no longer be him and her but _them_.

"_Then by the powers vested in me by the unusual circumstances of our lives and the good Lord above – I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride_."

**End of chapter 5**

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	6. Chapter 6

**All good things must come to an end - and come full circle. Thank you for joining me for this tale. All of your reviews have been fantastic and made me smile.  
**

**This is not a songfic and The Walking Dead is not a musical, but occasionally Beth likes to sing a little song. What better time than at her sister's wedding? (Plus it let me change POVs mid-scene, hehe.) Thus, the following disclaimer: "You and I" was written by Stevie Wonder and has been borrowed with respect. No infringement is intended.**

**Enjoy!**

_Thirteen Days  
Chapter 6  
_

Carol wrapped the argyle quilt around her shoulders and sauntered back to the picnic table that Daryl had commandeered. While everyone else sat together, drinking wine and eating cake, he took one table for the two of them and sat on top of it. Under normal circumstances, she would have dragged him to the party. This time, however, being a little more secluded seemed like a better option.

She pondered his reaction to seeing the quilt from the cellar. While they had distributed the ones they had used to cover themselves, it didn't seem right to let others use this one. The memories it evoked were too strong for her.

As she approached, she watched Rick and Daryl exchange a nod and smile. The gesture wasn't entirely unusual - they were friends after all - but there was something about it that she couldn't figure out. It was almost like they were finishing a conversation without the need to speak, a private exchange meant for only them. She stopped to give them a moment alone, but Rick saw her. He waved in greeting before walking away.

Daryl glanced over his shoulder but turned his entire torso when he saw the quilt. "You're shittin' me. Ya kept it?"

She did a little turn, arms outstretched to show off the familiar design. "Don't worry; I've washed it."

"I sure as hell hope so." He patted the spot next to him on the table top, and she sat down. The way his eyes darkened and slid across her body, she could tell exactly what he was thinking, and she felt her cheeks redden. It was the same recollection she always had.

She offered half of the blanket to him, and he adjusted it over his shoulders, scooting closer to her until their thighs touched. She felt the slow burn return to her belly, the flame that erupted whenever he was near. If they'd been alone, they'd be on round two by now, and if their absence wouldn't have been noticed, they would be alone.

He handed her a glass of wine, and she chuckled. "You sure you wanna trust me with alcohol? You know what happened the last time."

"I think I can handle it," he replied, taking a drink from the bottle to hide his smile.

The sounds of cheering and applause drifted to them. Hershel helped Beth stand on the bench of one of the picnic tables, and the audience spread out. Glenn and Maggie embraced in the middle of the courtyard, swaying to the sound of Beth's sweet voice as she sang.

_Here we are, on earth together  
It's you and I  
God has made us fall in love, it's true  
I've really found someone like you_

Carol smiled and sipped from her glass, watching Glenn and Maggie dance. The love in their eyes was evident even from her distance. She hadn't been lying in the cellar; their love gave her hope that the world could rebuild. It wouldn't be easy, but it would be possible. Marriage, children, family, community. All of it.

_Will it stay, the love you feel for me  
Will it say that you will be by my side  
To see me through  
Until my life is through_

She could have that, with Daryl. He had performed the Dixon equivalent of sky writing by holding her hand at the wedding ceremony. There wouldn't be a marriage or children, but they could live out the rest of their days together. The thought was both exciting and terrifying.

It had been so long since she had been in love. Every emotion was a butterfly, wings flapping wildly in her chest, and she wasn't sure if she should laugh, cry, smile, or scream. The anxiety made her hands shake, and she squeezed Daryl's knee to calm herself, watching him with a sidelong glance.

_Well in my mind, we can conquer the world  
In love  
You and I, you and I  
You and I_

He tensed at the contact, remnants of the past, but the reaction was fleeting. She'd done a lot to keep him from flinching at a simple touch, and it became easier to relax with each passing day. When she leaned her head on his shoulder, he managed to remain calm. Besides, she felt warm and soft and fit against him perfectly.

And despite the fact that everything had gone better than he expected or even could have hoped, a tiny twinge of doubt began to pulsate in his mind.

_I am glad  
At least in my life I found someone  
That may not be here forever to see me through  
But I found strength in you_

"Do you, uh…" He nodded his head toward Glenn and Maggie, who had now been joined by other dancing couples. "Ya know. Wanna go out there? To dance?"

Carol regarded him with a frown, and while he tried to look nonchalant, he realized he probably looked like he was in pain. He took a mouthful of wine and nearly choked as he worked it past the lump in his throat. She took the bottle from him and sat it on her side, away from him. "No."

He expected himself to feel flooded with relief, since he didn't know how to dance and had only asked in an attempt to emulate normal people with normal relationships. Instead he felt a little dejected and embarrassed. Why was she looking at him like that?

_I only pray  
That I have shown you a brighter day  
Because that's all that I am living for, you see  
Don't worry what happens to me_

"Daryl, you don't have to change for me." She smiled gently. "I appreciate the sentiment; it's very sweet, but it's not you. I would never ask you to be somebody you're not." A blush crept onto her face. "That's not the person I fell for anyway."

He looked at her, but his eyes were drawn to the blue hydrangea in her hair. _Acceptance_, he reminded himself. Not just of their relationship but of _him_. No one had ever offered that before, had ever accepted him exactly the way he was, faults and all. "Just wanna do right by you," he mumbled.

"You make me happy … and that's right enough for me."

'_Cause in my mind, you will stay here always  
In love  
You and I, you and I  
You and I, you and I_

The final globe of doubt popped and shattered in his mind. Daryl found himself stifled by an overwhelming sense of self-respect that he'd never really had before. He wasn't inept or incompetent or incapable of feeling; he had merely believed that no one would want someone like him. Damaged. He'd lived his life thinking he needed to prove himself, when in reality he simply needed to _be_ himself.

Carol was smiling at him again. Carol, with her endless forgiveness and patience. She was the best thing he'd ever had in his life, and he'd be damned if he lost her again. He was finally home.

_In my mind, we can conquer the world  
In love  
You and I, you and I  
You and I_

The final note was punctuated by a rumble of thunder. There were a few screams as fat raindrops burst through the clouds and drench everything beneath them. Daryl and Carol darted under the walkway, quilt acting as a makeshift umbrella, and watched everyone else run for the cell block. The courtyard cleared out in a hurry with just the two of them remaining outside.

"You'd'a thought they were gonna melt, the way they took off," Daryl said with a smirk. He gestured to the downpour. "This is nothin' compared to what we went through."

Slowly, one hand over the other, Carol pulled the blanket from his shoulders. Then she spread it out on the ground, careful to straighten out any creases or lumps. Daryl watched her methodic actions, rooted to the ground.

When she finished, she straightened and clasped his face in her hands, eyes locked on his. Emotions flashed between them like lightning, one dominating the others like thunder. "I love storms."

He nuzzled his nose against hers, sharing the same breath, the same feelings. "I love them too."

**End**


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